The weather outside was colder than Damien thought. Pulling tighter his coat, he still shivered, from the winds blowing through the “wind tunnels” created by the high-rise buildings scattering throughout Manhattan. ‘Where is the driver’ Damien thought to himself. A man in a suit seemingly induced in his conversation with his blackberry, unknowingly bumped into Damien. About to turn around and try to start something, Damien decided not to when he saw the limo pull to the curb beside him. Nicolas Johnson had been the family driver since Damien was born. “Where to,” Nick asked. “Hell” replied Damien, slouching down in the chair. Not caring to put on his seatbelt. “Wimblen Academy it is then” Nick chuckled, and hit the gas peddle. Living in New York City his entire life Damien still was awe-struck by the touring skyscrapers in Midtown Manhattan, and the Financial District. The limo passed by the family’s building. The massive “RISQUETTE STOCK EXCHANGE” sign signified the power accompanied to the family name. Wimblen Academy was in Brooklyn right next to the east river. The large, golden flags printed with the schools name symbolized for some, the attendance of entire generations in the schools 150 years of existence. To Damien it meant pure torture. It wasn’t that Damien was bullied in school, or that he felt disconnected from the schools faculty and students. It was instead the opposite way. Damien bullied, and smeared the very core of some of the younger classes, with his cruel remarks and authority like person to which he can thank his mother for instilling in him. Then there was his amazing bargaining qualities which without a doubt must come from his fathers side. The limo pulled to a halt alongside the curb in front of the school’s open doors. Sighing again, Damien opened the door and stepped out. “I’ll be here after-”
Damien shut the door before Nick finished what he was saying. His anger, and hostile attitude kept him warm from the very cold wind blowing from the icy river. It was 12PM, he only had 3 more classes before the day would be done. Or he could just leave the school, and take the public bus home. By the time he got back into the city, school would already be out. Caught up in his scheming to escape, he didn’t notice Mr. Grant, the Vice Principle walking toward him. “Well well,” Mr. Grant said, “Look who has decided to make an appearance.” Damien, sullen now that he definitely wouldn’t be able to leave, turned to Mr. Grant. “Yup,” he replied. One word phrases had become Damien’s way of communicating with the V.P. The two of them had developed an odd relationship, per say.
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Daniel J. Grant and John Risquette, Damien’s father were past business partners, Mr. Grant actually helped launch the Risquette’s influence overseas. But as Mr. Risquette put it “business ideas clashed, and the Risquettes like always, came out triumphant.” Mr. Grant however, put things in more descriptive terms, “Mr. Risquette, upon reaching the top, forgot about those whom helped get him there. In my belief, one day he will topple down, with no one to pick him up.” Now the tension between the two adults, occasionally dish out the brunt results to Damien. Whenever he is punished by Mr. Grant for bad behavior, Mr. Risquette demands that Damien not carry out the detention, or whatever punishment he is given. Then so continues the childish feuds between a highly regarded school vice principle, and a world renowned business tycoon.
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“Yup, is that all you’ve got to say” Mr. Grant asked. Closely watching Damien as if he was prey, that turned out to be a predator. “That’s what I said” Damien muttered, while giving the classic rolling of eyes. Chuckling, Mr. Grant told Damien to get to class, or get a detention. Damien, not wanting to hear another “stand up for your rights, if not for your family” speech from his dad, chose class. 4th period for him was English. His teacher, Ms. Jacar. Damien used to be one of Ms. Jacar’s top students, then he just quit. His teachers always used to applaud his positive behavior, and used to insist that when he fully applies himself, he can “move mountains” as his 9th History teacher put it. Walking into his English class, the students looked up from their composition books. They did this when anyone walked in, but upon seeing Damien someone in the back of the room said “oh my god he’s here.” Ms. Jacar, who had been so immersed in her romance novel, looked up and withheld a gasp when she saw Damien. “So nice of you to join,” she said, “your seat is still open.” Without word, or even acknowledgment or Ms. Jacar or anyone for that matter Damien walked to his seat by the window in the back corner of the room.
He put his head down, and took a nap until the bell rang. He spent the last 2 classes doing the same thing. Hearing the clock hit 3PM, and the bell signaling the end of school lifted up Damien’s mood a bit. Walking through the halls to the front door of the school, Damien gave notice to no one. Exiting the school, he looked around for Nick. No limo, no Nick.
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